


The Happy Endings Club

by sunkelles



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, And she doesn't know how to get rid of him and is afraid to, Canon Sibling Incest, Closeted Character, F/F, Joffrey is Sansa's beard, Lesbian Sansa, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:45:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunkelles/pseuds/sunkelles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A witch visits Cersei, and offers to give her a happy ending. </p><p>Her solution? Send them all to Storybrooke Maine. Sansa and Arya eventually remember, and want nothing more than to build their own happy endings as well.</p><p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Me posting something is me committing to finishing it. This is my solemn word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is a crossover with once upon a time

Cersei pulls a chair up to the ornate, Weirwood table. She sits down, and she pours herself a glass of bitter, Dornish red. She drinks it down in three gulps. Then, she pours herself another glass. She plans on getting staggering drunk tonight. 

She sits alone at the table, which is unsurprising. She is totally alone now. She isn’t alone in the temporary sense that sends a slight sadness through her and is soon forgotten. She’s alone in the terribly permanent way, the sort that makes her feel as though she’s drowning in it. Myrcella’s still off in Dorne, her uncle and the Tyrells have turned Tommen against her and Joff is dead. 

  
Even Jaime has abandoned her, to run off with that brutish Maid of Tarth. She chugs the wine this time, and considers chugging the rest of the bottle instead of pouring herself another glass. She takes the middle road, and lifts the bottle to her lips, taking a long swig directly from the bottle. She hopes that the alcohol does it work quickly. 

  
The door opens, and a woman who might well be the crone’s human form enters her chambers. She sends Cersei a crooked smile that shows off her rotting teeth. Cersei is ashamed to admit that she’s been expecting her. 

  
“You wished to speak to me?” the woman- the witch screeches. She hardly knows why she deigned to speak to the woman. 

 _You need her,_ a voice whispers in her ear, _you need her magic._ Cersei doesn't want to admit to  _needing_ anything, let alone magic. Maggy the Frog's prophecies still haunt her dreams, but she has no other options. She has already buried one child, and lost her brother-lover. It's only a matter of time before Margaery steals the throne and she buries her remaining children. 

 _A younger and more beautiful queen,_ she thinks bitterly. She will save them all from their fates, and if she has to use magic to do it, so be it. Cersei has used dirty means to achieve her ends before. The woman smiles absently at her, as if they have not been standing in awkward silence for quite some time.

"I did," Cersei says, trying and failing to avoid looking at the hag. Her skin looks like wrinkled, aging papyrus.

When she start to speak, her voice sounds much like Mycrella did when she first started to learn the clarinet. 

"Y' grace," the woman says, sending Cersei a mocking smile. Cersei would like nothing more than to tear her skin right off of her saggy face. 

“Well,” Cersei demands, “what is it that you wanted?” 

  
“Doesn’t matter what I want, matters what you want. You want a ‘appy ending, don’t ya?” She says with her screeching voice. Cersei is taken off guard. She doesn’t know what she expected the woman to say, but it wasn’t that. She doesn’t even know how to answer her. She doesn’t know that she wants to. 

She is a lion, though, a Lannister, and she finds her voice soon enough. 

“I want my son back,” she says, “I want Jaime back. I want my throne back.” 

“I can make that happen,” she says, her voice a low squeak. 

“What of the others?” the beldam asks. There’s a part of her that wants to make their lives hell. She wants retribution for the loses that she’s suffered, the rapes, the injustices. But she doesn’t. Perhaps she’s grown a conscience, or perhaps she no longer cares, but she does not ask for retribution. She just wants her own happy ending, nothing more, nothing less. 

“Do as you will,” Cersei says. 

“I can do that too,” the woman says with a smile that reveals her rotting teeth. 

“Now what do you want?” Cersei demands. 

“To come with you,” the woman says, with a grin that shows her rotting teeth. 

“The Realm will be undone, I’ve seen it,” the hellcat says, with a mad gleam in her eyes, “The Others are gathering North o' the Wall, preparing to march. That Targaryen girl is coming with her dragons to burn it to the ground. Ice and fire are comin’, Y’ Grace, and I’d prefer not to be 'round when they get 'ere.” 

“Fine,” Cersei agrees, “come with us. I don’t care.” Cersei wants her children back, she wants Jaime back. She doesn’t care what she has to do to get that. 

“Now give me my happy ending,” Cersei roars, every bit a lion.

“Gladly,” the woman says, a smile slithering across her lips like a snake. 

  
“But know this, Cersei Lannister,” she warns her with a ghost of a smile, “You don’t want your enemies to remember. It would be eve' so bad for your if they decided to seek revenge." Cersei is only half listening to her, drunk on wine and sweet, sweet victory. 

  
The woman starts her spell, speaking in a voice deep and knowing, far different than the froggy croak she used just moments before. Smoke starts to gather around them, forming a small storm cloud within her chambers. 

  
High Valayrian is said to be the language of magic. The language she speaks in is far different than the melodic lilt of High Valyarian. This language is guttural and harsh, but melodic in its own way. It sounds more ancient and powerful, and Cersei wonders if perhaps that is the tongue of the Children of the Forest themselves. 

Somehow, though, Cersei understands the last line, clear as if it were spoken in the Common Tongue. 

"Let it be done!" the woman nearly screams, and the storm cloud grows into an enormous, mushroom shaped cloud. Lightning crackles around them as thunder booms. 

  
Cersei smiles as the purple lightning storm consumes her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the rest of this fic after this is kind of a modern au. I hope that you enjoy family relationships, and Sansa's huge crush on Margaery Tyrell.


	2. Welcome to Storybrooke

The bell rings loudly, and as always, Professor Lannister begins his lecture the moment that it stops. The seat beside Sansa remains empty, but Arya Wolf normally shows up to class a few minutes late. She won’t be surprised if Arya ends up walking in later.

 

Mr. Lannister might be short in stature, but he’s quick-witted and silver-tongued, and he can keep a class in check better than any other teacher that she has.

 

“We are beginning our unit on fantasy novels this nine weeks,” Lannister tells them.

“Can anyone tell me some of the characteristics of a fantasy novel?” he asks. Everyone looks awkwardly around the room, hoping that he will call on the kid beside them. Sansa knows the answer the way that she almost always knows the answer, but she doesn’t like answering questions in class. She joins the rest of her peers and feigns ignorance. Arya chooses this precise moment to stagger through the door. With her half-shaved head and her constant tardiness, Arya Wolf seems like far too much of a delinquent to have gotten into an AP literature class.

 

“Miss Wolf,” Professor Lannister says, “it appears that you’ve volunteered to answer this morning’s question.” Arya looks as though she wants to groan, but she doesn’t.

“What is it?” she asks, not trying overly hard to sound polite.

“Describe the fantasy genre to me,” he says.

“It has a lot of magic,” she answers quickly, “and dragons.”

“Well,” he says, looking skeptically at her, “I can’t say that you’re wrong, but that wasn’t a very detailed response.”

He pauses a moment before asking, “Would anyone else like to take a stab at it?” The class remains silent, and Sansa thinks that she might hear a cricket chirping in the background. Lannister sighs, but doesn’t seem particularly surprised. Sansa’s class isn’t prone asking questions, or prompting discussion. Most of her classmates are still half asleep during their first class period.

“Fantasy is a genre of literature that generally uses magic or other supernatural elements as a plot device, or theme. Most of the time, it takes place in a setting of the author’s own creation, and the world is governed by the author’s own rules. It also, as Miss Wolf said, commonly uses dragons or other mythical creatures. Can anyone name any novels that are considered fantasy?” No one raises their hand or says a word.

“I will start calling on people,” he warns. Sansa doesn’t need any more warning.

“Lord of the Rings,” she says, trying to phrase it as a question.

“An excellent example,” he says, “let’s have some more.”

“Narnia?” Satin Floris asks.

“Good, good,” Lannister says.

“Harry Potter,” Beth says, looking quite happy with herself.

“Percy Jackson,” Arya nearly shouts.

“Both of those are great examples,” Lannister says. A few of her classmates continue to add more titles, the volume swelling to a crescendo that would make her choir director proud.

“Can anyone tell me anything else that’s distinct of fantasy?” he half asks, half shouts. The class quiets down after that. Most of them don’t know the answer and are afraid of getting it wrong.

“They’re like fairy tales,” Beth Cassidy says.

“How?” Lannister asks her.

“Well, they have magic, and creatures,” she says, “and they always have a happy ending.”

“Oh no, no, no,” he says, “fantasy does not equal happily ever after. Magic doesn’t immediately fix everyone’s problems. Sure, in Harry Potter, everything eventually turned out all right, but people still died. A fantasy novel isn’t necessarily a fairy tale. But you’re right about the first too. They do both have magic and creatures.” Sansa’s not sure if she’s ever heard of a fantasy story that didn’t have a happy ending, but she doesn’t say this aloud. She doesn’t think that it’s worth arguing with Mr. Lannister about.

 

He grabs a stack of red papers off his small podium, and the whole class groans. Colored papers only mean one thing in Lannister’s class: book reports.He drops the pile onto one of the student’s desks, and they all start to pass them around.

 

“For this book report,” he says, “I want you to work with a partner. Find a fantasy book that appeals to you. Write a report based on the rubric, and make a visual to go along with it. On another, more crucial note, I want you both to read it. I want you to discuss your book, and really understand it. I want you to see the implications that your book’s world has on your life.” Sansa doesn’t bother to groan, because the rest of the class does it for her.

“I promise you,” he says, “I have read eighty-five percent of the books that you might choose, and I have read or will read in depth summaries of the rest of them. I will be able to tell whether or not you’ve read them by listening to your presentations.” The rest of the class groans even louder at that.

“Groan all you want,” he tells them, “but you still have to do that project.”

The students have already started chittering away nervously, and Sansa hears Lyanna Marshall ask Beth if she wants to partner up.

Damn it.

She’s going to regret this. She already regrets this, but she has no other choice. She has to work with someone, and Beth already paired up with Lyanna.

"Would you like to be my partner?" Sansa asks, cautiously. Arya shrugs.

“Alright,” she says. Sansa can already feel herself doing all the work. The bell chimes again, and the class scurries to leave.

“Wait,” Lannister says, “You won’t have time in class to work on this project! It has to be completed outside of class.” Sansa is fairly sure that half of the class was out the door before he even made that announcement. Sansa supposes that she’ll have to figure out a time that works for both her and Arya to go to the library. This time, she does groan.

* * *

 

 

As Sansa makes her way to choir, she steels herself. This is normally the point in her day where Joffrey pulls her roughly to the side. Sansa doesn’t see him for class until sixth hour, and he normally can’t wait that long to rough her up and make sure that she’s coming over to do his homework. Sometimes Sansa feels much more like his personal nerd punching bag than his girlfriend.

“I’m not in the mood today, Joff,” she tells him, trying to sound strong. He grasps her arm tighter, in a way that might appear affectionate to an outsider. It hurts though, hurts terribly, and she suspects that this time it will bruise.

“You’ll be there after school, Sansa,” he tells her. It isn’t as much an order as it is a statement. Sansa wishes that he weren’t right. He walks away from her with an arrogant smirk on his face that she’d like nothing better than to wipe off. She walks to choir, trying to rub the pain out of her arm.

It doesn’t work.

* * *

 

 

Bumping into Margaery Tyler is a significantly more pleasant experience.

“Hey Margaery,” she says, as butterflies take flight in her stomach.

“Sansa,” the other girl says, pleasantly, “it’s nice to see you.” Margaery smiles at her, the sort of sincere smile that sends butterflies through her stomach, and Sansa wishes yet again that she had the strength to dump Joffrey. Maybe even more so, she wishes that she had the strength to come out.

Margaery tells her a little about how the spring play is going, but Sansa is only half listening. She’s too busy staring at Margaery’s glossy lips.

“I’ve got to go, Sansa,” she says, “but I’ll talk to you later.”

“Good bye,” Sansa says sadly, and she tries to pick herself up and drag herself off to math. She is much less excited about this.

* * *

 

 

She arrives at the Lannister Residence thirty minutes after school gets out. She parks her tiny, beat up car on the large, semi-circle driveway, and looks up at the enormous white mansion once again. She never really gets used to how wealthy the Lannisters really are, and she never becomes less terrified when she comes over. Joffrey himself is enough of a challenge, but his mother is the mayor and his father is the sheriff. They make for a formidable combination, and her fear of all of them is the main reason that she hasn’t broken up with the asshole.

She says “hi” to Myrcella as she passes the other girl on the large, marble staircase and she sits down in the large, leather chair in the corner of Joffrey’s room. She starts on his homework as he kills civilians in the newest version of Grand Theft Auto. She finishes his Trig and History homework quickly enough, and bullshits her way through his English assignment, which is over a book that Sansa’s never even read. Joffrey’s not on any sort of advanced course for English, so she hasn’t read half of the same books as he is supposed to have read.

“Alright, I’m done,” she says with a flourish, dropping his books onto the end table and standing up from the chair.

“My parents aren’t home,” he says darkly, lustfully almost, and Sansa nearly runs out of the room. She mutters excuses about her mother and dinner and doing anything that she can to get out of the house as _quickly as possible._

* * *

 

She nearly collapses onto the couch when she finally gets home. She stares at the ceiling fan spinning rapidly, and wishes that she could just fall asleep. She has been done with this day since before she got out of bed. She hears someone walk down the stairs, and she knows that it has to be Robb. Bran and Rickon both bound down the stairs, jumping multiple stairs at a time, and mother barely makes a sound. Robb walks down every step, but makes a lot of noise doing so. She groans loudly, but doesn’t move. Sansa just wants to melt into the couch.

 

“Sansa?” he asks, looking to her in confusion, “I didn’t even know that you were home.”

“I haven’t moved from this spot for,” Sansa gets her phone out to check the time.

“Four-seven minutes,” she concludes. Her older brother sends her a confused look as Sansa forces herself to sit up.

 Robb sees the bruise that is starting to form on her arm, and Sansa brushes it off.

“I fell down the stairs,” she says, and it sounds stupid and futile even to her. But she can’t tell him what really happened, she can’t start down that road.

“You can talk to me,” he says, and Sansa’s response gets caught in her throat. 

“I’ve got a ton of homework,” she lies hastily as she bounds up the stairs. She nearly slams the door behind her, and throws on a long sleeve shirt before mom, Bran, and Rickon get back from Rickon’s football practice. She feels like the world is falling in around her, but she can’t tell anyone about it.

She hopes that she can get a hold of herself before the rest of her family gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any questions about who's "related" to who in this verse or names, just send me a message. I thought that since this was based on season 1 of ouat where very little makes sense and Regina did what she wanted I kinda just did that too. 
> 
> Also, if you have any suggestions on how to improve Tyrion's lecture hit me up I've never learned about fantasy in a school environment and I don't know how they teach it.


	3. A Dinner with the Tullys

Sansa gets to her first class about ten minutes before it starts, which is fairly normal for her. She plays a few rounds of 2048 on her phone before Arya, who has somehow arrived early, takes her seat beside her.

“What’s your number?” Sansa asks. Arya rattles off her digits as Sansa makes her a contact in her iphone. Arya puts Sansa’s number into her flip-phone that looks like it crawled right out of the depths of pre-smartphone hell.

“Do you want to meet at the library after school?” Sansa asks.

“That sounds great” Arya tells her, “we actually _don’t_ have softball practice today.”

She pauses a moment before asking, “are we talking public library or school library?”

“I think that the school library would be easier,” Sansa tells her.

“Alright,” Arya says, just barely finishing her word before Margaery’s honeyed voice comes over the loud speaker.

“Good morning, Storybrooke High School,” she starts cheerfully, the way that the announcers always do. Sansa lets herself listen to the timbre of Margaery’s voice without really listening to the boring specifics of the announcements.

* * *

 

 

As Sansa makes her way to the choir room, she tries to think about the gorgeous Latin song that they’re starting in choir, or really anything other than Joffrey. She trudges on, hoping that somehow she will avoid running into Joffrey on this well-trodden path.

  
She doesn’t succeed. He grabs her harm tightly before she even realizes that he’s there. They make eye contact, and before Joffrey can even speak, Sansa has said something that might be a little bit stupid and reckless.

“I’m not coming tonight,” Sansa tells him.

“Yes you are,” he says, offhandedly.

“I’m really not,” Sansa grinds out, “I have my own project to work on.” Joffrey grasps her tighter, right on the spots that have started to bruise, and he digs his nails into her.

“Sansa,” he threatens.  
“I’m not doing it,” she says, trying to pry her way out of his hold. She feels blood drip down her arm. People scurry to their classes as she hears the bell ring.

“You’d better run off to class,” she tells him.

“My mother would have a tardy erased,” he says, and he’s glaring at her. She doesn’t acquiesce, though. She flails her way out of his hold, and runs off to choir. He shouts at her, but Sansa does not look back.

Her adrenaline flows as she shuffles away, but she doesn’t look back. She knows that will only make her more afraid.

* * *

 

 

Sansa ditches 6th period (which is something that she never, _ever_ does) in order to avoid seeing Joffrey, and shows back up for her 7th hour German class. She meets Arya in the library afterwards.

 

“Hold on a second,” Arya says, taking out her relic of a phone.

“Jon,” she says, “Yeah, I need to work on a project. You don’t have to take me home.” She pauses a moment before saying.

“No, I don’t think that you’ll have to come get me later, either,” she says, “I’m sure that Sansa could take me home.” Then she moves the phone from her ear.

“Would you be alright with that?” she asks sheepishly.

“Sure,” Sansa says. She really would have preferred to have been consulted about it before being volunteered, but it’s not all that much trouble. Sansa’s taken Jeyne and Beth home a million times.

“Do you have any ideas for books?” Arya asks hopelessly.

“Alright,” Sansa says, “let’s just go look in the fantasy section.”

 

They spend a few minutes sifting through boring looking books based on Arthurian Legend and Norse Mythology before Sansa sees a familiar title.

“How about _Twilight_?” Sansa asks. Arya sends her a look of complete and utter disgust.

“Really?” she asks.

“I’ll take that as a _no,”_ she says, gently setting the book back onto the shelf. Personally, Sansa has always really enjoyed _Twilight,_ but she also gets that it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. Actually, it’s not most people’s cup of tea.

“ _The Mortal Instruments?”_ Arya asks. She passes Sansa the book, and Sansa only has to glance at the cover to decide that she isn’t interested.

“Demon hunters?” Sansa asks skeptically.

“I thought that it sounded fun,” Arya mutters. Sansa lifts an eyebrow

 “It has people seeking vengeance,” Arya says, “ _vengeance,_ Sansa. _”_

“Fun,” Sansa mutters, “that must be _loads_ of fun.” Arya snorts as she puts the book back on the shelf, not bothering to find the proper space for it.

“There’s always _Percy Jackson_ ,” Arya suggests, but Sansa barely hears her. She doesn’t know why, but she feels like this has to be the right book.

“ _A Game of Thrones_ ,” Sansa murmurs, gingerly taking the book off of the shelf. The front of the book shows nothing but a sword, the title, and the author’s name. Sansa flips the book around to look at the summary. She skims over the first paragraph, which mainly talks about how fantastic the author is and blah blah blah. Sansa’s not interested in the author’s accolades. She needs to read the summary.

Something seems strangely familiar about the name Winterfell and the description of the Starks. Sansa feels as if she has to read the damn book now, even if it isn’t for a project.

 “That is not a _book,_ ” Arya says, walking up to her and snatching the book out of her hands, “that is a brick. I have seen _bibles_ smaller than that thing.”

“Don’t you think it sounds interesting? It just sort of called to me.” Sansa says. She knows that she’s going to check it out even if Arya doesn’t agree to do it for their project.

“I don’t want to read that,” Arya says, looking back to the girth of the book.  

“Just read the summary,” Sansa says, shoving the book into her face.

Arya takes what seems like a long time to read it before she finally says grudgingly, “Alright. That does sound interesting.”

“See,” Sansa says. Arya rolls her eyes.

“But that book’s still, what, a thousand pages?” Arya asks. Sansa turns to the last page.

“694,” she says, ”And this part at the back seems like a guide.”

“Fine,” Arya mutters, “but don’t expect me to be quick about it.” Sansa rolls her eyes.

“I’m sure it will be fine,” Sansa says.

“Do they have an audiobook available?” she asks.

Sansa doesn’t ask her why, but says, “I’m not sure. We could go check, though.”

 

They turn to the corner of the library that houses the audiobooks. To Arya’s relief, they are able to find a copy of _A Game of Thrones_ by George R. R. Martin. She grasps the case tightly.

“Thank you God,” she says, “Thank you Jesus, thank you any other deity that might be out there.” Normally Sansa would be rolling her eyes, but she’s finding that she’s, to her great surprise, _enjoying_ Arya’s company.  
They check out their respective copies of the book, and Sansa checks the time on her phone. It’s nearly six thirty, and Sansa hasn’t even noticed time passing.

* * *

 

 

They get into Sansa’s small white car.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” Sansa offers. It's an impulse offer really, but she would like to have Arya over. She hasn’t really had friends in so long that she doesn’t remember the feeling, but she kind of wants to. She kind of feels like Arya could be her friend.

“I’d like that,” Arya says slides into the passenger seat. Arya doesn’t put on her seat belt, but Sansa doesn’t mention it. She just turns her key, puts her car into drive and steps onto the gas pedal. Then she drives.

 

Arya gets out of the car, and doesn’t move.

“What are you starring at?” Sansa asks. She doesn’t think that there’s anything all that interesting in her yard.

“Why do you have a stone with a trout on it?” she asks in confusion.

“Oh,” Sansa says as she blushes, “That’s sort of a funny story.”

“Do tell,” Arya says, leaning against the car. Sansa sighs as she looks away from Arya, to the sandstone with a red and blue trout engraved in it.

“So my mom went to a college that’s mascot was a trout. A few years ago, she had a “Tully” sign commissioned with a trout on it for her college, but they only ended up engraving the trout on the stone. They completely forgot to put Tully on it too. Mom said that she’d still buy it if they gave it to us half-price.” Arya does, actually, end up finding the story funny and snorts a lot as they walk into the house through the garage.

 

“Hello everyone,” Sansa says as she drops her keys into the key bowl and leads Arya into the living room. Sansa can smell the lasagna cooking in the oven. 

 

“Hey Sansa,” her mother says, barely glancing away from the salad to see her. She does a double take, however when she notices Arya.

  
“Who’s your friend?” she asks, a bright hopeful tone seeping into her voice.

“Arya Wolf,” Arya says. Joffrey scarred most of Sansa’s old friends away from her. She hasn’t had Beth or Jeyne over in over a year. Her mother seems overjoyed that she’s brought someone ever, even though her head is half-shaved.

 

Sansa sets the table quickly, making sure to add an extra space beside her and they all sit down to eat. Rickon prattles on about his day for about the first five minutes of dinner, before their mother finally interrupts him.

“So where do you two know each other from?” her mom asks.

“English,” Sansa says.

“We’re working on a big project right now,” Arya adds. Robb decides that this is the time to start ranting about how well his favorite baseball team is doing.

Surprisingly, this is Arya’s favorite team too, and they babble on about players and batting averages and lots of things that Sansa has never cared enough to pay attention to. They both seem excited, though, and that’s all that really matters. They eventually switch topics, and Sansa and Arya talk forever about everything from Riverlands Elementary tearing down their play equipment to the newest season of American Horror Story.

 

They talk at dinner, and then they keep talking afterwards. It gets to the point where Arya finally has to leave, and neither of them want to stop talking. It’s a strange thing for Sansa. She just wants to talk; she doesn’t even want to kiss the other girl. Her mother just seems super-duper relieved that Sansa brought a friend over.

 

Arya calls her brother and makes him come over and pick her up around nine, and the moment that Arya exits the house, her mother asks a question that she's clearly been bottling up for most of the night. 

“Do we know her from somewhere?” her mother asks.

“I wouldn’t think so,” Sansa tells her. Sansa never met Arya before Sophomore English class, and she wouldn’t know where her mother might have met her.

“She seems so familiar,” her mom asserts.

Robb nods his head, “She does seem really familiar.”

“I agree,” Bran adds, and she assumes that Rickon would assent to their point if he hadn’t already run off to his room to play video games.

“I don’t know why she seems familiar to you guys,” she says, “Arya’s just in a few of my classes.” She doesn’t bother trying to explain how easy it is to be around her. She doesn’t think that she could explain that to herself.

* * *

 

 

She goes up to her room and starts the first chapter of _A Game of Thrones._ She wishes, for the sake of her ability to sleep that the death described wasn’t so vivid. She wishes that it didn’t resonate so deeply in her mind. She tries to shove the images away as she throws the book onto her nightstand. Sansa turns off the lights, and goes to bed relatively happy for the first time that she can honestly remember.


	4. Reading and Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa reads and bonds, and then reads and bonds some more.

Sansa wakes up in a cold sweat a little after midnight. She had some sort of nightmare, though she can’t remember the details. Arya was there, and Joffrey. She thinks there might have been other people, though she can’t swear to it.

She’s afraid. She’s dreadfully afraid, even though she can’t even remember what happened in her dream. Instead of trying to go back to sleep, she turns her light on and tries to start reading her book again. She reads as Catelyn Stark (née Tully) delivers her husband the news of an important man’s death. She reads of a young girl named Dany and a boy named Jon and a girl named Arya. She reads of the crypts and a feast and a little boy named Bran climbing where he shouldn’t be climbing.

 

She learns of an incestuous relationship between a queen named Cersei and a knight named Jaime, which sends shivers down her spine as she realizes what the man is about to do to a boy that reminds her so much of her younger brother. She shuts the book with a scream as Bran falls.

 

She does not open the book again until she wakes up screaming around four o’clock with images of her mother clad in fine clothes tending to a near-dead Bran. She opens the book and reads as Jon Snow and a man named Tyrion journey to the Wall and as Ned and Sansa and Arya journey down the Kingsroad. She yells at the book, trying to get Sansa to see Joffrey for the monster that he clearly is, but her screams don’t help at all. It’s as futile as yelling at the characters in a horror movie, though this feels more crucial somehow.

She knows, to some extent, what the girl with her name in the book is getting herself into. She wouldn’t wish her fate on anyone.

She doesn’t put the book down until seven thirty, when she has to hurry to get ready for school. She throws her hair into a ponytail, tosses her book into her backpack, and runs out the door, deciding to pick up a cup of coffee at a gas station on her way to school.

* * *

 

 

 

When she plops down into her seat in Lannister’s class that morning, Sansa is running on pure adrenaline and sipping the coffee that she picked up at the closest gas station.

“You look exhausted,” Arya tells her.

“I _feel_ exhausted,” Sansa replies. Arya raises an eyebrow.

“I stayed up nearly all night,” she clarifies.

“ _Why?”_ Arya asks, as if she finds the very idea appalling.

“I was reading,” Sansa says, though that’s only half of the truth. She decides that it’s better to give half the truth than to try to explain the whole truth. Arya somehow looks even more horrified given the explanation, but she doesn’t give it much thought.

 

 

Sansa nearly sprints to choir to avoid meeting Joffrey in the halls.

 

 

Sansa clutches her sack lunch, and walks into the cafeteria. She sees the girls that she normally sits with, but spots Arya out of the corner of her eye. She turns to get a better look, and sees that the other girl is sitting completely alone at one of the round tables. Sansa has always sat with a group of girls that she wasn’t really a part of and was as good as alone at lunch.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” Sansa asks, clutching her tray as she stands beside Arya’s nigh empty table. She’d much rather sit with Arya than with the girls she normally sits with.

“Why would I?” Arya asks, and for a moment Sansa moves to walk away. 

“Sansa,” Arya says, rolling her eyes, “just sit down.” Sansa nearly slams her tray down beside Arya, and slides in beside her. Sansa eats her chips as Arya eats her school food that looks vaguely radioactive. They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, which is much more pleasant than listening to the other girls prattling on about their boyfriends and how _lucky_ Sansa is to be dating Joffrey.

“I-,” Arya passes a moment, for once seemingly at a loss for what to say, “I heard that you’re dating Joffrey Lannister.” _Do you read minds?_ Sansa thinks frantically, but she doesn't say this aloud.

Instead she says, "“I am," though the words are heavy on her lips. She doesn’t really want to say it because she doesn’t want to be dating him.

 “I can’t believe that you’re _dating_ that shitbag,” Arya says, finally rediscovering her words and her loud opinion. Sansa doesn’t bother to respond. Arya shoves a large amount of Doritos into her mouth.

“I’d prefer not to talk about this right now,” Sansa tells her. Arya backs off, but Sansa can tell that she’s not done. They don’t speak for a moment, and Sansa eats her brownie as she tries to decide what to change the subject to. It doesn’t take her long to realize which subject is the most pressing.

“You know what’s freaky?” Sansa asks.

“What?” Arya replies.

“There’s a Sansa, a Bran, a Robb, a Rickon, _and_ an Arya in this book,” Sansa tells her.

 “And?” Arya asks.

“Isn’t that a little bit weird?” Sansa asks, “it has my name, your name, and the names of all three of my brothers. And all of us are siblings.” She doesn’t even mention that their mother shares a name with Sansa’s own mother.

“I guess,” Arya says, “but there’s a Ned and a Jon too. I thought it was just a coincidence.”

“What about Ned and Jon?” Sansa asks, a hint of panic creeping into her voice. 

“My dad and brother are named Ned and Jon,” Arya says nonchalantly. Sansa feels a chill run up her spine. She knows that coincidences occur, but that seems too weird to be true. She takes a bite of her brick-like roll, and tries to drown her worries in chocolate milk.

 

They walk down the halls, and Sansa realizes that she’s almost to her stop and hasn’t asked Arya the question that’s been nagging her for half of the day.

“Would you like to sleep over Friday?” Sansa asks.

“Because, you know, we need to work on our project and that seems like a good way to get a lot of stuff done at one time,” She adds, trying to cover up her actual affection. Arya rolls her eyes.

“That sounds great, Sansa,” she says, and it only sounds a little sarcastic. Arya slips into her classroom, and Sansa slips into her next class, Trig.

 

After it ends, she considers ditching her next period to avoid seeing Joffrey. She decides against it, but thanks God that the seating chart put her at the opposite side of the room as him.

* * *

 

 

 

When she gets home, she reads more of the book. She reads as Bran is nearly killed once again, and as his grief stricken mother decides to take matters into her own hands and travels South. And then, Bran finally awakens from his coma.

 

“Get your head out of that book and come eat,” Rickon shouts as he opens her door. 

“I’m halfway through a chapter,” Sansa complains.

“Mom said if you didn’t come down I could give you a wet willy,” Rickon says as he runs over to her with a devious look in his eyes. Sansa slams the book onto her bed, and nearly sprints down the stairs as her little brother laughs and tries to touch her with his spit-coated finger. She laughs as she takes a seat at the table and tries, unsuccessfully, to use the chopsticks that came with their Chinese takeout. Robb gracefully slides them, between his fingers, and takes a more successful bite with his.

“It’s not that hard,” he gloats around a mouthful of food, and Sansa glares.

“Robb,” their mother scolds, but both of their younger brothers burst into laughter once some of the rice starts spilling out of his mouth. Even Sansa giggles a bit, even though it’s gross.

When Sansa was little, she never would have laughed at something like that. She was so prim and proper. Actually, she remembers wanting to be a princess, though the rest of her childhood is a bit fuzzy. She doesn’t want that anymore.

 

Sansa realizes that she’s glad she doesn’t live in Westeros. She’ll take her stupid brothers and her new friend and her own problems over the people in the book’s any day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this was kind of filler. But it's setting up the plot so I think that it merits existence.


	5. Sleepovers and Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday arrives, and so does the plot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that boringest is not a word. Arya does not care that boringest is not a word.

Friday comes quicker than Sansa expected, and soon it’s seven o’clock and Arya arrives at her front door with a sleeping bag, a poster board, and a polar bear pillow pet.

“Hey,” Sansa says as she opens up the door.

Arya just walks in and asks abruptly, “Where do I put my stuff?” Sansa rolls her eyes, but gestures with her hand for Arya to follow her up the stairs to Sansa’s room. Arya drops her pillow and sleeping bag on the bed, and lies the poster board against the wall.

“Do you wanna get some snacks?” Sansa asks.

“You read my mind,” Arya says, and they bound back down the stairs. They each get a pop out of the fridge, and Sansa microwaves some popcorn and grabs a bag of chips. She turns on her small, ancient tv and the old wii she uses to watch Netflix. Arya plops down casually on her bed, and Sansa grabs her curling wand out of her dresser. Arya looks to her in some mixture of confusion and horror.

 

“Please let me curl your hair,” Sansa begs, and she clutches the wand in her hand.

“If you burn me,” Arya says darkly, “you’re on your own for this project.” Sansa looks to her seriously.

“I have never burned a person other than myself,” she replies smoothly.

Arya pauses a moment, and then asks cautiously, “Have you ever actually curled someone else’s hair?”

“Tons of times,” Sansa says, though she’s honestly only done it three or four. She curled Beth’s hair once, and Jeyne’s a few more times than that. She’s not going to tell this to Arya, though. She’s wanted to see what Arya’s hair looks like curled ever since she walked into class with that undercut on the first day. Now she has a chance to do it herself. Arya sighs, but she sits down on the carpet and crosses her legs. Sansa plugs in her wand, and waits for it to heat up.

 

“We’re watching something cool, though,” Arya says, as she snatches the remote. She starts scrolling away from the romcoms that Sansa had thought they might watch, and finds a section of both intense action movies and terrifying thrillers.

“If you turn something loud and scary on,” Sansa says, “I am much more likely to burn you.”

“That is a risk I’m willing to take,” Arya says as she clicks on one of the horror flicks.

Sansa grits her teeth, but doesn’t say anything as Arya finally settles on a flick called _The Black Death_.

 

“That guy looks like my dad,” Arya observes, a little into the movie.

Sansa tears her eyes away from Arya’s hair for a moment. Sansa recognizes the long-haired man in amour from the times that she and her brothers marathoned _The Lord of the Rings._

“That’s Sean Bean,” she says.

“ _Sean Bean_ looks like my dad,” Arya says, though she honestly seems a little concerned about it. Sansa doesn’t really know what to say, and instead she goes back to curling Arya’s hair in tight ringlets. Her mother walks into the room halfway through the movie, when Sansa’s nearly finished Arya’s hair and Arya has finished an entire bag of potato chips. She just left the empty bag on the floor in front of her.

Catelyn looks bemusedly around the room.

“Shouldn’t you be working on your project?” her mother asks.

“Arya’s hair is enough of a project,” Sansa mumbles.

“I heard that,” Arya says.

“You were supposed to,” Sansa sing-songs. Catelyn rolls her eyes, but closes the door to Sansa’s room as she leaves.

 

Sansa finishes curling Arya’s hair as she watches someone burning at the stake. Then, the credits of the movie start to scroll across the screen.

“That might have been the boringest horror movie I’ve ever seen,” Arya says. Sansa isn’t sure about that, because she didn’t watch any of it, except for that last part.

“So why exactly did they burn that girl?” Sansa asks cautiously.

“Don’t even ask,” Arya says exasperatedly.

Arya stares at the credits and says, “That was a really bad movie.” Sansa just bobby pins the rest of Arya’s hair to the side.

“What do you think?” Sansa asks, placing the circular mirror in Arya’s hands. She might as well take her friend’s focus off the movie she thinks was terrible.

“It looks nice?” Arya says, phrasing it more as a question than anything else.

“It does,” Sansa promises. Arya starts bouncing one of her tight curls, and Sansa supposes that it’s a victory, albeit a small one.

“So yeah,” Sansa says, a little awkwardly, “we still have that project to work on.” Arya groans loudly.

“Do you have any ideas?” Sansa asks, and Arya perks up at that.

“I think that we should make a poster board,” Arya says.

“And?”

“And make sections with the major houses and characters,” Arya adds, “so you can see where loyalties lie and what’s going on in the conflict.”

“What point in the story would we set it at?” Sansa asks, “the beginning? Things might end up changing by the end.” Sansa has a sneaking suspicion that something terrible will happen at the end of this book, and the status quo will be shattered forever.

“Do you mean the beginning like before the book started?” Arya asks, “or the beginning like when Jon Arryn just died and the king is coming to Winterfell?”

“Probably when the king arrived at Winterfell,” Sansa says. Arya nods her assent.

Then Sansa asks, “Do we put Cersei under the Baratheons or the Lannisters?”

“Lannisters, for sure,” Arya says. They start drawing out pictures of the major players, and writing out where they go and who they’re married to/who they fostered with and all that interesting (or boring, depending on who you ask) information. It is now one o’clock, and they’ve got the whole project plotted out before Sansa makes a comment that’s been bugging her all night.

“You know,” Sansa says, “this book freaks me out.”

“Why would it freak you out?” Arya asks, and then she seems to realize how silly that sounds.

“I mean, other than the plot and the Stark kids thing,” she amends.

“Cersei and Jaime Lannister,” Sansa says simply.

“Well sure,” Arya says, “fucking your brother is pretty disturbing and I’ve never been tempted to try it, but that doesn’t seem like something to be freaked out over. It’s just a book.”

“Cersei and Jaime Lannister are Joffrey’s parents’ names,” Sansa says somberly, trying to ignore Arya’s interesting commentary.

“Wait, like real Joffrey?” Arya asks, “The asshat that you’ve wasted time dating?”

“Yes,” Sansa mutters in return.

“That _is_ a bit freaky,” Arya admits.

“See,” Sansa says, and she doesn’t even bother mentioning the dreams or the numerous other reasons that reading the book gives her déjà vu.

“But you wanna know what’s freakier?” Arya asks. Sansa doesn’t prompt her, because she knows that Arya will supply the answer on her own. Arya looks closer at Sansa’s arm. She’d rolled her sleeves up when she curled Arya’s hair, and hasn’t pulled them down yet. Arya can obviously see the most recent bruises on her arm.

“That you keep dating him,” Arya says.

“You wouldn’t understand, Arya,” Sansa says. She bites her lip, because she half doesn’t understand why she is either.

“Why do you stay with him?” Arya asks. It’s more than asking, really. It sounds more like begging. She looks concernedly at the bruises constellating Sansa’s arms. Sansa can come up with a multitude of false reasons, but she knows Arya won’t buy them. The other girl just seems to get her in ways that no one ever has before.

Maybe it’s because she’s exhausted. Maybe it’s because it’s been eating at her, or maybe it’s because for some strange reason, she trusts Arya. Sansa ends up telling her the truth.

“Because I’m afraid,” she says, “I’m afraid of coming out.” Arya sends her an odd look. Sansa takes a deep breath.

“I’m gay,” she says softly, understanding without a hint of disgust passes through Arya’s eyes. Sansa lets out a relieved breath.

“He’s been my cover forever. And I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I break up with him,” Sansa says softly. A look of understanding passes over Arya, but also a look of shock.

“Sansa,” she says, and it’s so frank and utterly Arya that she can’t stand it, “everyone loves you. No one will think differently of you ‘cause you like to kiss girls.” The words bring about a swelling, warm feeling inside of her, but she remembers her fear as well. She tries to crush the floating feeling down.

“I know,” she says, “I know my brothers would be alright. I know my mother would get over it, eventually. I just-” Sansa takes a deep breath.

“The Lannisters terrify me.” Sansa says. The whole town knows that Cersei is the mayor. They know that Tywin is the most cutthroat business owner in town, and they know that Jaime Lannister passed up a career in professional boxing to settle down with Cersei. And of course, it doesn’t hurt that they have the equally terrifying sheriff on their payroll.

“The Lannisters terrify everyone,” Arya says, “but you have to break up with him.” Sansa supposes that the other girl is right. The Lannisters will probably hurt her either way. She just needs to do it.

She takes a deep breath and says, “I’m going to break up with him.”

“Good,” Arya says, and Sansa suspects that’s all that she’s going to hear on the subject.

 

“So,” Sansa says, trying to change the subject to anything else, “any cute humans you want to talk about?” Arya raises an eyebrow.

“Does that mean that you don’t want to talk about it?” Sansa asks.

“That means that I don’t find any humans cute,” Arya replies.

“Alright, alright,” Sansa says, “I’ll back off.”

“You could talk about whatever girl you find cute,” Arya says, “you know, if you want.”

Sansa’s breath hitches, but she reminds herself that she _told_ Arya.

_She doesn’t think any differently of you,_ Sansa reminds herself.

“Maybe next time,” Sansa says, “I don’t think I’m ready for that quite yet.”

Arya curls up into her own pillow, and Sansa decides that must mean that she’s ready to go to bed. Sansa sighs, and gets up to turn off the light. The movie that she started about thirty minutes ago as background noise is still playing, and Sansa decides to leave it on. She actually finds it easier to fall asleep sometimes when the tv is on.

* * *

 

 

 

Sansa screams and screams as someone shakes her.

“Sansa,” the girl asks, “Sansa –please calm down.” Arya, her brain supplies. Arya is shaking her, and she’s in her own bed in Storybrooke. She tries to steady her breathing as she tells herself that everything’s alright. She can still hear the movie playing in the background. Apparently, they haven’t been asleep all that long. She tries to banish the images of Joffrey Lannister laughing as he has a man's head cut off out of her mind. 

“Sansa- I-I dreamt that Joffrey had my father’s head cut off.” Arya says, and Sansa feels something cold creep up her spine as she realizes that they dreamed the same thing. It hadn’t been her father, at least not the absentee one she ever knew. This had been Sean Bean, but Sansa supposes that’s nearly the same as Arya’s father. Arya said the man looked just like her dad.

They had the same dream.

“So did I,” she says softly. Sansa looks solemnly at the other girl, and sees terror glimmering in her eyes. Their eyes meet for a moment, as they both mull over the implications of this.

None of them are good.


	6. Abandoned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: um yeah sorry guys this fic is dead.

I'm sorry that I started this fic, because I got bored with it and wasn't certain where I was going to take it. I thought that you guys deserved to know that I'm never touching this again, and to have at least everything that I had plotted out. Here's some snippets and world-building stuff as an apology. (I haven't touched this fic since June and I just don't feel any desire to give it the love and attention it needs to become the fic that it should be.) 

Basically, this was going to be a "Sansa and Arya working together to bring back the happy endings" fic.

1\. They were going to bring Ned and Cat together  
2\. I don't remember how but they were going to cause Robb and Theon to be friends again (and theon to get away from Ramsay)  
3\. There was going to be something with Shireen but I honestly don't remember what?  
4\. They were gonna let Cersei be  
5\. I don't remember whether or not the Margaery subplot ended happily because she wanted to take Cersei's life  
6\. Eventual reunited stark family and sansa, arya, cersei, and margaery are the only ones that ever remember because the memories of westeros suck

here's some snippets if you're interested.

* * *

 

1.  **This was going to be in the next chapter**

Sansa clutches the book tightly in her hands, to remind herself that she is awake. She needs to know that she’s not crazy before she dials Arya’s number. Arya, thankfully, picks up. It takes a few rings, but she does pick up.  
“Arya?” Sansa asks quickly.  
“Sansa,” Arya mutters,” it’s three in the morning. This had better be pretty damn important.”   
“Do you remember the dream we both had?” Sansa asks, “the one where Joffrey beheaded your father?”   
“Yes,” Arya says, “Sansa- where are you taking this?”   
“It’s in this book,” she says.  
“Sansa-”   
“Ned Stark loses his head in this book,” she says, “and you’re almost killed and I tell Joffrey that Robb will bring me his head. All those dreams happened in this book.”   
“That’s crazy, Sansa,” she says, ”and why did you wait until right now to call me?”   
“I just finished it,” she says.   
“Arya,” Sansa says, a light tremor in her voice, “you’ve got to believe me.” She knows that phrase in her terrified, trembling voice is not overly convincing. But she has to at least try.   
“I-I think those dreams were memories- of a different life,” Sansa says.   
“One where we were sisters?” Arya asks.   
“Yes! I think that our lives are written in the pages of those books.”   
“You know that you sound crazy right now,” Arya says.   
“I wouldn’t tell you these things if I weren’t nearly positive they were true,” Sansa says.   
“Alright,” Arya says, “I’m coming over tomorrow night.”   
“Wait?”   
“And we’re going to look up summaries of those damn books on Wikipedia. See if everything matches.” Sansa feels a weight lift off her chest. Arya’s taking her seriously.   
“But right now?” She prompts.   
“Yes?” Sansa asks.   
“We are both going to bed,” Arya says, hanging up the phone. 

  
“What are we going to do?” Sansa whispers to her, “we can’t turn in a project over this!”   
“We could do something over _The Lightning Thief_ ,” Arya offers, “I’ve read that book a thousand times.” Sansa sends her an odd look.   
“What?” Arya asks, “it was really funny.”   
“I’m sorry,” Sansa says, “I just can’t see you sitting down to read a book, let alone reread it.”   
“I made Jon read it aloud to me,” Arya says, “I just really loved Percy Jackson. He had ADHD too, you know? It’s nice to see a hero like you sometimes.”   
Sansa mulls that over for a moment, and decides not to comment on it. Arya looks embarrassed, as though she’s accidentally revealed something altogether too close to her heart.   
“I’m not sure Lannister would be too pleased about that,” she says, “the reading level’s too low.”   
“Would you prefer we turn in the report on everyone in town’s dirty, medieval pasts?”   
“I don’t think we have any choice,” Sansa says, “we haven’t got any time to redo it. Lannister’s understanding, but I doubt he’d be too lenient if we just didn’t hand anything in.” 

  
Tick-tock, tick-tock 

 

2\. **I'm not sure where this goes in the timeline, but here's Sansa breaking up with Joffrey**

She still does it, though. Joffrey slides up to her in World History.   
He starts talking about the “stupid faggots” trying out for his precious basketball team and she snaps.   
“We’re through, Joffrey,” she says.   
He pauses a moment, and sends her a confused look.   
“What did you say?” He asks her, a low tone of anger in her voice.   
“We’re done, Joffrey,” Sansa says, looking the boy straight in the eyes, “I’m breaking up with you.”   
He grabs her by the arm, hard enough to bruise, and growls, “what?”   
Arya stalks over to her.   
“You heard her,” Arya says, crossing her arms in front of her. Joffrey lets go of her, and shifts his attention to Arya.   
“And why is it any of your business?” Joffrey demands.   
“Because she’s my friend,” she says, and Arya looks him directly in the eyes, “and you’re going to leave her alone.”  
Joffrey laughs.   
“Oh,” he says, “I see how it is. She’s gone dyke for you.” Arya looks like she’s about to punch him, and Sansa just wants this to be over. She doesn’t want Arya to get herself hurt.   
“I’d be careful if I were you,” he says, “the bitch never put out for me.” Arya punches him this time, right in the face.   
Blood runs down his face as Arya pulls back her fist. The teacher sends all three of them to the office. 

  
Sansa feels a sense of déjà Vu as she recounts the tale. The fear courses through her veins as she sits down in the principal’s office.   
“Sansa,” Principal Mormont says. “Tell me what happened.” She’s afraid, terribly afraid of what will happen to her if she tells the truth, but she can’t lie. She feels like in a different time, if she were a different person, she might have. But she can’t now. She can’t do that to Arya.   
“Arya was just protecting me,” she says softly. The principal nods her head.   
“He’s-” she pauses a moment, “he’s hurt me before, and she was afraid that he would right there in class.”   
Principal Mormont looks to her.   
“Why?”   
“I broke up with him,” Sansa says, with a hint of pride in her voice.   
“I’m sorry,” she says, “I won’t be able to punish Joffrey, but I won’t punish Arya either.” 

  

 

 

 

 

 

2\. **Meeting Mayor Lannister**

 

"Sansa," Mr. Pycelle says, "Mayor Lannister wants to see you." Sansa's blood freezes in her veins. 

"She does?" She asks cautiously. 

"You should go," he says. Sansa cautiously stands up, and tries to steel herself. She tells herself that it can't be anything big. 

 

"You remember Westeros," Cersei says. It isn't a question; it's a statement. Sansa isn't even sure if she can deny it. She decides not to respond. This, apparently, is not the right answer. 

 

"What do you want?" Cersei demands. 

"I want you to leave me alone," Sansa says. 

"What else?" Cersei demands. For the first time, Sansa realizes that the other woman sounds  _frightened_. Sansa has  _power_  over her. 

"I want Joffrey to leave me alone," she adds, "I just want all of you to leave us  _alone_." 

 

"Are you trying to make everyone remember?" Cersei growls. 

"No," Sansa asserts, "I don't want everyone to remember! Remembering sucks!" 

 

 

3.  **I had planned on the Margaery subplot being that she remembered the whole time and wanted to topple Cersei's happy ending and write one of her own.**

“Cersei doesn’t deserve to be mayor,” Margaery says. “She shouldn’t have any power in this town. _I_ should." 

 

 

  
4\. **Origin of the title and the planned Theon subplot.**

After Sansa remembers, she knows nearly everyone. Living with two lives in her head is almost worse than not having her memories. But only almost, because now she’s broken up with Joffrey. Now she has Arya, and maybe, she can have Margaery Tyrell as well.   
She doubts that she’ll ever get used to it. She sees her family’s enemies at the grocery store, sees long-dead allies in the park. She doesn’t know what they should do. 

  
“We’re happy,” Sansa says, “but why don’t we help everyone else?”   
“Everyone?” Arya asks, “are you sure that you want to make Tywin Lannister happy?”   
“Maybe not everyone,” Sansa concurs, “but good people. Like Tyrion and Brienne. And mom and dad.” Arya nods her assent.   
But Sansa never thought that she’d end up feeling sorry for Theon Greyjoy. 

  
Ramsay Bolton is the terrifying sheriff. Ramsay Bolton is also, very obviously, an abusive boyfriend. 

 

**5\. Theon POV. Warnings for Ramsay.**

  
“I’m allowed to have friends, Ramsay,” he nearly screams.   
“No, you aren’t,” Ramsay screams with murder in his eyes. Theon doesn’t flinch this time, not the way he normally does. He looks his boyfriend in the eyes.   
“Who would want to be friends with you?” He asks, a cruel little smirk curling on his lips.   
“Robb Tully?”   
“Yes-”   
“You’re such an idiot,” Ramsay growls, “he just wants to get in your pants.”   
“Maybe I want him to!”  He feels a familiar fist collide with his face, and he hits the ground.   
Ramsay stomps on his hand in his boots, and then, Theon screams.   
Ramsay goes to bed, and Theon grabs his things. Then, he gets the fuck out. He makes no noise as he leaves the house, and makes no noise until he rings Robb Tully’s doorbell.   
Their doorbell rings at 3:00 o’clock in the morning.   
“No, damn it Theon,” Robb mutters, “just come in.”   
The other man looks uncharacteristically contrite.   
“If it’s too much trouble,”   
“Get on my damn couch,” he mutters, a hint of a grin on his face.   
He awakens to a woman’s scream.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for quitting on you guys, but I bit off more than I could chew with this one and I thought you deserved to know it was dead. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope that you find good fics that will eventually be finished!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the rest of this fic after this is kind of a modern au. I hope that you enjoy family relationships, and Sansa's huge crush on Margaery Tyrell.


End file.
